While they're sleeping
by Listelia
Summary: Based on awesome j-drama NANKYOKU TAIRIKU. Just an interlude to my other fic "What you call a storm". A text like a poem, sweet and quiet, like a lullaby...


_What do they dream about?_

_What does the night send whirling in the corridors of Station Showa, while snow falls slowly on the immense ground of Antartica?_

* * *

Hoshino smiles in his slumber, his satisfied and happy spirit probably virvolting with snowflakes outside, surfing on auroras, flying over the ice floe powdered with silver on the wings of an enchanted whale. He is where he always dreamed to be, among people he esteems and he loves. Everyything is good. Everything is beautiful. Everything is peaceful. He doesn't think of what could go wrong. Why think about about it? All in good time. It's now, here, that he savors.

Samejima snores, an arm and a foot outside the blanket, open mouth and his moustache wild. From time to time, he releases a wild boar growl and the corners of his lips lift up in a brief smile. He runs by the water's edge, hat almost on his eyebrows, and in his orange mitten he holds treasurely the hand of his little boy. Pinguins don't run away for once and give some entertainement, cute and roguish. Kenta laughs and applauds and Samejima has never been so happy.

Funaki is carefully tugged in bed, next day clothes well folded on his desk, next to the cap he didn't put on since they arrived. Behind his lashes, he's still on the roof of the station, checking a bolt here, a sheet steel there. His right fist is tightened as if it still held the hammer. The skin of his palms became calloused and it's been a long time since he last did yoga like he used to do on the boat. His nights are populated with joyful mess, childish excitement, enthusiastic and crazy projects. He doesn't regret his well tidied up and disciplined life. He feels and embraces life, for real.

Arashiyama dreams of his mountains, the smell of trees and moss. Like usual, his nose is blocked and he inhales with his mouth making a O. A river of surly snow slides in on the familiar trails and a gigantic blue sky never stained by the war caps the icy summits. He imagines taking his custmers to the brass plate of Mount _Botnnuten_, walking across the ice floe with his red jacket and his ice axe. He's got that feeling his lungs widened like if they wish to contain all the pure air of the inviolated continent. He's older and younger at the same time.

Tani-sensei snores quietly – or so does he want to think, his roomate doesn't quite agree – while his sons are watching from the picture frames. He dreams little and doesn't remember what it was about, usually. But, from time to time he catches a glimpse of what his heart makes of the night. Two young men have join the expedition and they work and laugh and eat and fight and live, amond the others at Showa Station. Somehow, they've returned from the war, they've lived on, they're still here. Somehow, they manage to tell him they're happy, they have no regrets, they're sharing with him this great adventure.

Yamazato quivers and stammers on his too narrow bed. He turns to one side, then to the other one. His brain hesitates between ramens and cabbage, combines turnip and can peas, balances meat and a sauce he will need to invent from scratch. He smells curry and sweat, and, at the bottom of his butter-like heart, he continues repeatingly to say thank you. He regrets nothing. His dreams are inked with the bright red banner of his former shop and a warm family color. This is home.

Yokomine speaks in his slumber. He talks to his wife, to the round womb he remembers, to both babies whose faces he has not seen yet. He caresses the plump faces, kisses his wife's lips, tells them what he lived today, yesterday, last week. He already said that, but does it really matter? He's at the apartement but behind the windows blows the Antartica blizzard, and at any time his companions could enter to ask him to send a message. It's like he's here and over there at the same time. Maybe he really is. His thoughts swirl in the room, in points and lines and he hears the laughters of those he loves with those he came to know.

Utsumi writes in his sleep, an arm under his neck and the other one on the blanket, his hand still holding his pencil, scribbled sheets spread around him in the bedroom. The day comes back to him in flashes, organized in sepia pictures. He sees again the snow, the dogs, his friends, the dinner, discussions, pinguins and everything gets sorted out slowly in his head for the next morning. He grins from time to time, as sniffling. He does not want to leave and nevertheless he looks forward to seeing how the world receives the narration of the expedition, he wants to share this intense feeling of fullfillement. It's as if his dream had a soft, anticipated flavor. He's exactly where he has to be and would never exchange his place.

Inuzuka is curled up in a ball under his blanket. His spirit gallops so fast during the night it feels like he never gets enough sleep. He's sliding behind the dogs under a blazing sun, tumbling down the spotless slopes of the continent. His arms hurt after pulling Kuma's chain and trying to stop the sled. His shoulders developped muscles and under his collarbones coils up the pleasant sensation to be more and more a man. His eyeballs are printed with images, action, challenges to overcome, victories and defeats which give you the feeling you've learn something new. His heart doesn't have a square to fit the idea of what his life could be if it wasn't here. It seems to him he'll be able to face anything onwards – including his father – when he'll return home. He runs after Taro and Jiro who escaped again and in his slumber, he smiles as well…

Himuro dreams of a periwinkle blue dress that brushes the spangled ice floe. He watches Yukari's long brown hair floating on her shoulders and her smile which reflects a sky without the shadow of a cloud. The air is fresh and smells of a flower color. Somewhere, you can hear a dog barking. The young woman laughs, kneels and kisses Shiro who comes to her happily. There's no war, no regrets, no pain, no tears, here. The world stopped and Himuro isn't dress in black anymore. On his face wrinkled for such a long time, irony gives way to a sincere long forgotten smile. He looks at his hands and they speak to him of no more frustration and guilt. His heart is so light he could fly away, float high towards the so white, so bright sun. He lowers his eyelids and feels the hand that settles gently on his. His fingers grasp the velvet sweetness and peace of Yukari's skin and he is allowed to go, quietly, towards something better…

Kuramochi doesn't dream. He sleeps soundly, his head on the hood of his jacket that fell again from the coat rack, hair tangled with the fur. Next to the bed there's an other non-identified pebble, a collar to be repaired, the dogs's diary, his wallet with the picture of the expedition 45 years ago. He is here, whole. He is in his pledged country. He doesn't dream because only the present counts. Past and future come join him in the morning, reminding him of what he promised, but night hides him under its wing, letting him forget everything apart the wind that makes him a bit tipsy when he leads the dogs to what seems to be the other end of the world…

Miyuki doesn't sleep. She stuck on her ceiling cuts of newspapers with the face of her brother-in-law and the picture from his wedding. The gentle face of her sister carries news of _him_ she can't really understand but which smoothen her heart when evening comes. Kuramochi is well. He is happy. She's waiting for him, that's all what matters. Sometimes, she'd like to hasten time, to push months down the calendar, to pile up days a little faster… then she calms down, sits and pulls behind her ear a drill of rebel hair. She practices to smile like Yukari, so that the man they love can feel at home when he returns.

Riki doesn't quite know if he's dreaming. Taro and Jiro think they're awake, but they're spread on the ground, snoring. Kuma raises his massive shoulders and, snorting, rests his snout on his paws. Anko and Jakku are curled up in a ball. Pochi squeals quietly as he breathes in and out. Shiro closes his golden eyes, contemplating the station windows. They're gone in a breathless, incredible race and the voice of their beloved master resounds in the plain, skipping into steams of tanned earth, dry grass and voices of children encouraging them…

Night runs away on the back of the old Antarctica continent, who sighs slowly, blows on the mist and allows morning to wrap him in light.


End file.
